Harry Potter and the Vizard of the D'yavol
by Darkened Void
Summary: It was a series of unfortunate events that led Albus Dumbledore to paying a steep price to ensure Voldemort's destruction. Bodies for a body and blood for blood. With a steep price to pay, Dumbledore could not help but wonder, "Was the Vizard of the D'yavol worth the price?" D'yavol, pity the living! Honor the dead! Our rest lies within Death's embrace!
1. Prologue: The Vizard of the D'yavol

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am only writing this story for the enjoyment of the readers and myself.

A/N: I promise not to do too many of these long notes. I never liked scrolling halfway down a chapter just to read it. Canon Harry Potter has been thrown out the window for the most part. This will be a Harry/Fleur story, but may not focus too much on their relationship. I have not decided yet. Harry was born in July, 1976 and Voldemort in December, 1932 (he is a bit younger than in the books). Harry will be insanely powerful and cunning, but so will Voldemort. I just hope my ideas are somewhat original. As a side note, the magical world is MUCH bigger than in J.K. Rowling's world. In the 1970s Britain's population was around 55,000,000 or so. I am thinking Magical Britain alone should have somewhere closer to 500,000 witches and wizards in it. This would still be less than 1% of the entire population If you see things you recognize I have probably read that story, but I will never intentionally steal an idea without asking for permission to use it. With that said, enjoy!

Harry Potter and the Vizard of the D'yavol

Prologue: The Vizard of D'yavol

It was a series of unfortunate events that had led Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore to walk the path he currently trod through the inhospitable Siberian Mountains. He had spent years deliberating his actions since that fateful night on October 31, 1977. He had made mistake after mistake over the past two decades. Some were small, but most were significant. Since he was a person who held many important positions within not only Wizarding Britain, but the Wizarding World as a whole, his mistakes tended to have far further reaching consequences than the average witch or wizard.

The failures he deemed most tragic and devastating to the world as a whole centered around two people: Tom Marvolo Riddle and Harry James Potter. Both wizards had been dealt a poor hand by fate and had changed the culture and state of the whole of Magical Britain, one for the worse and one for the better. Or so most believed. Some good and much bad had come from both. The difference lied in the timeline.

Tom Riddle, also known under the pseudonym "Lord Voldemort", had almost immediately caused Magical Britain to suffer a decline not seen since the days of Gellert Grindelwald during muggle World War II. Riddle had grown up in an orphanage during the blitz of London. This, along with his treatment by the other orphans and orphanage staff, had likely shaped his vision of muggles into being brutish, violent creatures that were only capable of causing suffering to all who crossed their path. Yes, Dumbledore had studied Riddle's past as meticulously as he possibly could. One must know their enemy, after all.

The boy had always known he was special. He had an uncanny ability to shape and use the large amount of magic inside of him as well as the limited amount around him. It had taken him years to learn how to properly control his wild magic. When he finally did he launched a stealthy campaign of assaults and torture against his tormenters. The staff and other children feared him, but they could never prove he was involved, and he took enjoyment from their pain and fear. As an orphan he was well adapted to live and attack from the shadows, just outside of a person's perception.

Albus remembered well teaching the boy of the magical world around him the summer before his twelfth birthday in July of 1943. The boy had not been impressed with simple uses of magic such as the levitation charm or the summoning charm. In fact, Tom had shown him that he could also use those charms without a wand or incantation. The boy had seemed charming, but that veneer slipped the moment Dumbledore had shown him more powerful magic. He had seen the desire and lust for power the boy possessed. He had heard the rumors surrounding the boy in the orphanage.

Try as he might over the course of the next seven years, he could not dissuade Tom from his path toward darkness. He had failed, but he had tried so hard. Albus had kept watch on him as much as he could without being the headmaster at the time, but the boy had been cunning and slippery. By the end of Riddle's third year he had gained a following within all four houses. His natural grace, charm, and power had aided him much with that.

Dumbledore had tried to speak with Tom on several occasions, but he had never gotten through to him. He had failed each time. By Riddle's fifth year he had opened the Chamber of Secrets and gained not only a basilisk, but a horde of dark knowledge left by Salazar Slytherin for his heir. Ten students, all muggleborn, had died that year and Tom had left the blame at Rubeus Hagrid's feet when the school governors had threatened to shut Hogwarts down. Albus could still see Hagrid's tear streaked face as he looked upon the mutilated corpse of his dear friend Aragog. Headmaster Dippet, who had a soft spot for Tom, readily agreed that Aragog had been the cause of the deaths of the students even though there was no proof of poison in the three bodies that had been recovered. Albus could not blame the man for his choice, though. If he had not agreed with Riddle then the school would have been closed indefinitely.

The man who would soon be known as Voldemort quietly built a power base over the next two school years. He went on to be the Head Boy and was much loved by the student body. Few saw him for who he actually was.

After Tom graduated in 1950 with top marks and setting many N.E.W.T. records he surprised all who knew him by taking a job under Caractacus Burke of Borgin and Burkes'. He could have had nearly any job his heart desired. Instead he had taken a menial job and spent those years learning more of dark artefacts whose knowledge was not available at Hogwarts. He had long since discovered his blood family, and Albus suspected their deaths were by his hand. Burke had little useful information on Riddle. The trail nearly went cold with the death of that man in early 1954. His distant cousin of the relatively unknown House of Borgin took over the store after his death.

The rest of Riddle's history until his reemergence in Britain in 1971 was virtually unknown. Albus had scoured news reports from around the world to even catch hints of Tom's whereabouts. The Ministry had listed him dead by 1961. Albus suspected that Voldemort, as he was later known, was the cause behind the overthrowing of many dark lords throughout the American and European continents. He had likely used the various dark lords to expand his knowledge of the dark arts before ultimately killing them in combat. Tom had used these dark lords to also amass a large number of international dark wizards under his cause. They had laid in wait until he decided to take Britain. Those who had not joined his cause had surely been killed. Lord Voldemort left no witnesses to his history.

Voldemort took Britain by storm. He had started by using his band of fighters, who he dubbed Death Eaters, to kill and maim muggles to build his force's confidence. Though he had large numbers he always operated using simultaneous guerilla strikes with small teams. This continued for only a year. His next target was muggleborns. Many were slaughtered. The Ministry was not prepared for the backlash from both the magical and muggle communities. Minister Bagnold had not been prepared to be a wartime minister.

Attacks became more common in an attempt to distract the muggle and magical governments over the next two years. By January of 1974 Voldemort had fully integrated his most cunning and powerful followers in both camps. Two weeks later most important government officials, including both muggle and magical ministers, had been killed. Both governments were in complete disarray. This was when Tom had decided to wage all-out war against both governments. He'd amassed well over one hundred thousand followers by that time. His time abroad had bore much fruit.

Muggles were either slaughtered or sold to fund his war effort. The muggle military could not retaliate as they could not see wizarding areas and Tom's forces always cast powerful muggle repelling wards around any area they attacked. Those inside were affected, but could not overcome their confusion before being taken or killed. Muggle government officials and military leaders were continuously killed to further disorganize their attempts to retaliate.

Magicals fared better, but that was only because Voldemort's forces could only fight using surgical strikes against Magical Britain. Most of his efforts were spent slowly killing the much larger muggle population. He had learned that the new Minister of Magic had been trying to ally with the muggles to fight him. This went against the wishes of the International Confederation of Wizards who were worried about the already nearly failing Statute of Secrecy.

The war was waged, and the side of light was losing badly. Hundreds of old and new families alike, regardless of if they were muggleborn, half-blood, or full-blood "blood traitors", had been completely wiped out. Even though Magical Britain had suffered at the hands of World War II it had hundreds of thousands of witches and wizards. It had been thinned to just over one hundred thousand by March of 1976.

Dumbledore was given a prophecy in mid-March of 1976 that prophesied that one who could destroy the Dark Lord would be born at the end of July. It was foretold that his parents had defied the Dark Lord three times. This applied to two families who were with child at the time: the Potters and the Longbottoms. Unfortunately, a follower of Voldemort had been listening in at the time and reported part of the prophecy to his master.

This was ultimately the reason behind the Dark Lord's first downfall. While his followers slaughtered the last of the Longbottoms the Dark Lord Voldemort turned his attention to the Potters. The attack was over in less than five minutes, much of their house in Godric's Hollow destroyed. The Potters' own friend had betrayed them to Voldemort.

Albus had been on the scene just minutes after the attack. He may have arrived in time to save the family had he not been attending an emergency Wizengamot meeting that evening. He had fought Voldemort to a draw on several occasions. Voldemort was more powerful than Albus, but the Elder Wand more than evened his odds against the dark wizard.

Very little was left to aid Dumbledore's investigation of Potter Cottage. James he found dead in the sitting room a few yards from the staircase. Lily he found dead beside Harry's crib next to Voldemort's still smoldering robes. Albus knew that without a body to be found that the Dark Lord was likely somehow still alive, but he had never solved that mystery. What was worrisome was the fact that young Harry was completely missing from the home.

Albus had frantically checked in with every person who knew the Potters. None of them had seen Harry. A nationwide search had been initiated for the infant, but it was only carried out half-heartedly. Magical Britain was too busy dealing with the aftermath of the First Blood War to search for its hero. The Ministry claimed him as being dead two years later and the search was called off. He had failed Harry Potter.

Britain had enjoyed its time of relative peace. Minister Bryce had been elected as Minister of Magic after Bagnold's death and had used the six remaining years of his term to round up as many Death Eaters as he could. Tens of thousands of lives had been extinguished by use of the Veil of Death. In 1982 Minister Bryce stepped down as minister to enjoy his remaining few years of life with his family.

Minister Fudge took his place. The public had expected him to continue the Ministry's hunt for Death Eaters, but the man instead took bribes and let many escape justice. Because there had been no attacks against innocents for the past two years the public largely did not care. Most of Voldemort's followers had fled Britain by then anyway. The ones who remained after Fudge's election were either sent to Azkaban or came out of hiding and bribed their way to freedom.

However, Britain once again saw war on their footstep in December of 1992. Riddle had somehow taken possession of Ginerva Weasley and stripped away her soul and magic in a dark ritual to resurrect himself. Albus was unsure of the details, but Severus Snape, his longtime spy within Voldemort's ranks, ensured him that the Dark Lord had used several witches along with Ginerva in order to return.

What Voldemort had lost in his followers' numbers was more than made up for by their cunning, skill, and tenacity. His war over the next two years was not as brutal at the first, but he did not fight the Second Blood War on two fronts. He focused entirely on Magical Britain.

By June of 1993 he had completely infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. His forces fought from the shadows. Their most common tactic was to use the Imperius Curse to turn friend against friend and brother against brother. Families were once again disappearing left and right, mostly muggleborn families, but Fudge refused to believe Voldemort was back. Magical Britain was on the brink of a civil war, and Fudge's place in office hung by a thread. The only safe haven left had been Hogwarts.

Students were forced to live there year around in order to better protect them. Once they graduated they were conscripted to fight against "Pettigrew's Militia", as Minister Fudge called them. The Ministry had even changed the Hogwarts curriculum to focus on nothing but offensive and defensive magic. Parents were none too pleased, but Fudge had to be seen as doing something.

Magical Britain was on the brink of destruction from within when all attacks ceased in June of 1994. Trelawney had made another prediction. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on a person's view of such things, she had delivered the prophecy in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron during peak business hours. The prophecy was printed in full in the next morning in the Daily Prophet.

Albus thought over the words for what seemed like the hundredth time that day as he trudged through waist high snow on a mountain ridge.

 _Britain's Son shall be returned by the fall of the Seventh Month  
Lands afar will he have travelled and learned  
His power shall be unrivaled by all but one  
Through hardship and pain he prevailed  
The D'yavol was his teacher  
He will be the Dark Lord's equal  
The Vizard of the D'yavol will force the Dark Lord to kneel before him  
Or the Dark Lord shall make the Vizard dust beneath his feet  
Britain's Son shall be returned by the fall of the Seventh Month_

Minister Fudge had been sacked the next day and was replaced by Amelia Bones, the previous head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Voldemort had stopped his plans to ponder this latest prophecy. Thankfully, this had given Albus enough time to attempt to find out more about this "Vizard of D'yavol". It had taken some weeks to find any information regarding the prophecy. His first clue had been the Russian word D'yavol. It translated to "Devil". His second clue, besides being Britain's Son, was the word Vizard. It was a mid-sixteenth century word that later changed to mask or disguise. He was hiding or was hidden from the world. Albus highly doubted the Devil had actually trained "Britain's Son", so it must have been the name of an institution of some kind. The esteemed headmaster hoped he would find Harry at this D'Yavol, but he doubted he would.

Albus had first searched every archaic book he could find for any mention of a place called D'yavol, but it had been fruitless. There was no mention of any D'yavol beyond ancient Russian wizards attempting to find parallels between magic and the Bible. It was not until he ventured into the seediest parts of the international wizarding society that he heard whispers of a place called "The D'yavol". The men whom he had overheard had instantly died the moment the words left their lips.

He had been given two choices as dozens of wands turned toward him: Die or take a very specific oath. He had of course taken the oath after he had found out as much as he could about The D'yavol. He could speak of it with no living person who did not know the code phrase except in very specific situations. The wizards around him had freely answered his questions since he would either die or never speak of it with someone who either did not know or had actual need of the place's services. Even then he had to speak to a counsel who had to approve of the person who had need of The D'yavol. His trip to the hidden magical part of the Vatican had been interesting, indeed.

His trip to the Counsel of D'yavol had not been nearly as interesting. Once they had heard the prophecy they had approved of his trip to The D'yavol.

Dumbledore shivered as he crossed yet another set of powerful, archaic wards. He could see the colors, but paid them no mind as he had no hope of deciphering what they would do to unwelcome visitors. His mind instead turned to The D'yavol.

It was, simply put, an institution which trained the world's most skilled and deadly assassins using archaic magic, modern magic, muggle weaponry, and hand-to-hand combat. They were said to be unstoppable killing machines with no semblance of humanity left in them. Hence, The D'yavol. Assassins of D'yavol did not discriminate based on being muggle or magical. For the right price they would kill anyone asked of them, but they still only took on clients who truly needed their services. This resulted in them only going after high profile targets. It was a wonder that Voldemort had never heard of them.

Dumbledore's last thought before blackness consumed his world was his wonder at who the prophesied one would be and if he had correctly interpreted the wording of the prophecy.

* * *

"Welcome, Master Dumbledore, to The D'yavol."

Headmaster Dumbledore's eyes slowly came into sharp focus and immediately took stock of the situation he found himself in. He was sitting in a plain wooden chair that was located a small room made of obsidian stone with no decoration to speak of. The only source of light came from torches which were meticulously placed along the wall in obsidian sconces.

Across from him were two men, also seated in plain wooden chairs, which looked to be in their mid-fifties and were dressed in blood red robes. The robes seemed lighter than standard wizarding attire and completely hid what was underneath them. These were battle robes. They allowed far greater freedom of movement than standard robes.

"My brother, Alexei, and I apologize for our most rude greeting, Master Dumbledore," the man on the left said with a feral grin. Albus knew the men held no sympathy within their words, despite them being said believably. Alexei pulled the Elder Wand from inside his robes and held it pointed up. "My name is Vadim. I am sure you can understand our caution in your being here even though your arrival was announced to us many days ago. One can never be too cautious in our…profession."

Albus knew he was in a precarious situation. He knew he would not leave with his wand unless he was allowed to leave peacefully. Even then that was a stretch. He knew his next request would likely get shot down, as well. He was in no position to request anything. "May I perchance have your surname since you seem to know my own? It would be rather presumptuous, and not to mention, rude of me to call you by your given names."

Both men laughed deeply at him. They were completely at ease. There were other people in this room that Albus could not see. His eyes darted around quickly to see if he could see signs of any other people.

"I see you have figured out that we are not alone," Vadim continued. The feral smirk never left his face. He completely ignored Albus' inquiry. "You are as sharp as your reputation had us believe. I am interested though…in how you came across the legendary Deathstick? Yes, I know what this is. Tit for tat, as our American brethren would say, Master Dumbledore."

Albus sucked in a breath. He was in a most precarious situation. He saw few ways he would leave here alive.

"Worry not, Master Dumbledore." Alexei had finally spoken. It was odd that neither man had a Russian accent. They had no accent whatsoever. "You will receive everything you arrived with when you leave The D'yavol so long as you are peaceful and cooperative throughout your stay. Assassins we may be, but we are also men with a strong code of honor."

"I won the wand from Gellert Grindelwald in a duel in 1944," Dumbledore replied. He saw little other choice than to play along with these men.

"Very well, Master Dumbledore. Tit for tat." Alexei had a warm smile on his face, but the older man had his doubts about its sincerity. "We had heard rumors of Gellert Grindelwald's wand and of course your eventual victory over him. To answer your questions, we have no surname. We had no given names until ten years ago."

"Let us get to the point, Master Dumbledore," Vadim cut in. He looked to have already lost his patience. "My brother and I know why you are here. We have heard of your prophecy. You hope to find the one who is to defeat Tom Riddle here. My question is what do you think you have to offer us in return?"

This question forced Dumbledore to think on what he truly had to give them. He could not hope for kindness for kindness sake. Such was not their kind. These men were assassins. There was little to no kindness in them. But what could they want? Surely these men had all the gold they could desire. What did he have? The Elder Wand? No, they did not seem too interested in it. They likely knew the troubles the fabled wand could bring them, and they preferred to stay a relative unknown.

His family had few heirlooms to give. Perhaps he could convince Sirius to part with some of his family heirlooms. The Lord Black had little attachment to his family's precious treasures. These men likely had little use for such things, however. He could not give away Hogwarts… Wait… Surely not!

"You want more people!" Dumbledore was aghast. He saw the desire in their eyes. That was the true resource of a place such as this. "How can you possibly expect me to do, or even provide, such a thing?!"

"You are a smart wizard, Master Dumbledore." Vadim's face shifted into a mien of complete neutrality. "We run a business that offers many services, Master Dumbledore. Most witches or wizards who come through our hallowed doors merely wish to rent our services for a small time. We all know that is not what you are here for. For such services we would merely require gold, sometimes blood. We all know, however, this would not suit your purposes. We merely propose bodies for a body, blood for blood you see. We assure you that even our least powerful member is worth a large number of normal witches and wizards. Nobody has sought to buy one of our own for many years because they either felt the price was too steep or they had no way to pay us. But we know you are a well-connected man, Master Dumbledore. What is your answer?"

Albus could hardly believe he was even contemplating this course of action. It was deplorable. "Your price is high, Masters Vadim and Alexei. Before I agree I would first see your most capable fighter. It would do little good for me to have anything but the best."

Alexei turned to Vadim. "Do you suppose we should show him number 01A770357?"

"I believe that would be the best, Brother," Vadim replied smoothly before turning back to Dumbledore. "We will show you our best assassin, Master Dumbledore. Be aware, however, that even here the Vizard of D'yavol is considered to be a very special specimen, a wizard amongst children. If you would please follow us."

As the three men stood as one Alexei looked to no place in particular and gave a singular, nearly imperceptible nod of his head. These men were in absolute control. As they walked out the door, Albus found himself standing in a hallway which was also constructed completely from obsidian. Were it not for the torches placed strategically along the hall he would not have noticed the faint outline of doors every twenty feet or so. He could feel the magic in this area. It was oppressive, powerful. Death stained the magic of this place.

As they continued to walk in silence, Albus was able to pick out a few hallways that branched from the path they were taking. It seemed this place was even more of a maze than Hogwarts. Everything looked exactly the same. The D'yavol was built to confuse both its enemies and any new recruits who found themselves here past the ward line.

"We have a few minutes before we reach our destination, Master Dumbledore," Alexei said calmly while staring straight ahead of him. "Despite how distasteful I know you find us, I know you must have some questions for us."

"Since I may not speak of it with just anybody because of my oath," Dumbledore easily replied, "Perhaps you could tell me a bit about your…institution's history and how it is organized."

"That would be most agreeable." Alexei gave a small smile at the simple query, though he never shifted his gaze to Dumbledore. "The D'yavol was first constructed in 1422 B.C. by our forefathers. Many would call it a family business, but that would not be exactly true. The D'yavol has always been an institute for magical assassins. It was easy to find recruits in those days. You know as well as I the hatred muggles harbored for magicals."

Dumbledore nodded, though he felt no actual need to. His attention was partially on the subtle shifts in the magic around him. He knew them to be assassins following his every move, but he still had no idea as to where they actually were.

"Our assassins seem to even have fuddled even your legendary ability to sense ambient magic," Vadim said smugly. "I shall have to commend them tonight when we break bread. To continue where my brother left of, The D'yavol is a kind of family business. However, the succession of ownership is not exactly familial. Every head, or in this case heads, of the D'yavol were once recruits just like any other. We were the very best. Once recruits become full members of the D'yavol they are part of a family, a violent family to be sure, but family nonetheless."

"Once the current heads, or masters, see an assassin with the potential to be the next master, they more or less adopt them as their son or daughter." Alexei had a calculating look on his face. Albus felt that he was about to witness their 'son' in action. "The masters then train their son in the art and science of being a master of the D'yavol until they reach the age of ninety. At that time their son can challenge them to a duel to the death for the right to rule."

"This is the way it has been for as long as we have recorded the history of the D'yavol," Vadim continued as he almost negligently took a turn down another seemingly endless hallway. "Influence from the outside has been kept at a minimum since the institution's inception. We take small children, orphans usually, who have large amounts of magical power to become our assassins. We also breed our own to ensure we can continue in the event we cannot find many orphans. Many die from our training, but that is our way. Only the strongest survive being assassins."

Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly at the implications. How many had been stolen? "Why would you do such a thing?"

Alexei smiled, though Dumbledore's question could have easily been perceived as an insult. "Do not thing too ill of us, Master Dumbledore. How else are we to continue? Our assassins have shaped the world into what it is today." Alexei continued as if they had never been interrupted. "The wards have kept us safe for many centuries. We teach our recruits many things here which are not limited to the use of arcane magicks and muggle weaponry. We do not only make assassins here. Each recruit, when they come of age at fifteen, is evaluated for any open positions within our ranks."

"Of course we have assassins," Vadim picked up where his brother left off, "But we also have spies, researchers, healers, guards, scouts, and of course instructors. However, the bulk of our forces are made up of assassins. Each recruit, if found worthy of fully joining us, is given a number instead of a name. They may have an alias if they are deemed worthy, but that is rarely given. The first two numbers are the member's rank within their Division, the highest being 01 and the lowest being 20. All other use two letters of the alphabet and are considered unranked for all intents and purposes. Number one is the leader of their Division.

"Number 02 is given to the First Regimental Commander of each Division's most elite members. Each Regiment is composed of twenty members. The letter in their name denotes which Division they belong to, Alpha being the most prestigious and its leader leads all Divisions as well as their own. Upsilon is the last Division at the moment. At higher numbers we will create more Divisions.

"The next two letters are the year they were taken to be recruits of the D'yavol. The last four numbers denote the amount of confirmed kills and successful missions they have had. Names change constantly, but the members never choose their places. We, along with the instructors, choose which position they occupy. The only exception is when a named individual with the first two numbers being 02-20 challenge any of the other 01-20 for a right to lead. These are duels to the death. The rest of the duels are merely to incapacitation, but they are still allowed to mutilate their opponents."

The trio walked in silence for a few more moments before Vadim spoke up once again. "This is as much as we care to tell you, Master Dumbledore. Even should you choose to purchase one of our assassins they will be able to tell you no more than this. Number 01A770357, also known as The Vizard of D'yavol, has been the leader of Alpha Division since his fifteenth winter. He has never been defeated and has failed no mission. He is our prize, and as you must have guessed, our intended son. He will cost you much if you wish to have him. We are not so willing to part with him. We have arrived."

Albus Dumbledore took in the rather large courtyard he stood in. It was devoid of any natural life beyond the assassins which stood silent vigil. The ground was only a large flat patch of dirt covered mostly in a thin line of snow. Two young men stood in front of all the gathered Divisions facing one another. One had his wand out and looked confident in his posture while the other merely stood as if completely uninterested in the happenings around him. Both wore matte black robes designed similarly to the Masters' own robes. The only difference was the hood which was pulled over their head and completely hid their countenance from view. The only thing adorning their robes were their names stitched in dull grey thread with below the Greek letter that designated their Division. The one who stood in disinterest had blood red piping around his hood and the ends of his sleeves. He was the only one who stood out at all.

"Assassins of The D'yavol!" Vadim's voice was amplified as he spoke to the assembled witches and wizards. All of them had their faces hidden by their hoods. None of them dared to move or even make so much as a sound. They were well disciplined. "We are assembled this day to witness another challenge for the leadership of Alpha Division. Number 02A690422 has challenged 01A770357 to a duel to the death. As is custom, the leader of Alpha Division cannot issue a challenge, but must accept any given to him. Let us see who is fit to command the elite Division of our fine institution! BEGIN!"

Dumbledore watched in confusion as neither opponent made a move to begin. The only sign that either had heard the start of the duel was from the Alpha Division Commander. Albus could barely make out a glow that seemed to resonate from certain points on the Commander's skin from beneath his cloak.

The First Regimental Commander took this as his sign to begin. His opening salvo should not have shocked Albus, but it still did. The challenger fired a killing curse bracketed on all sides by an organ liquefying curse with two bluish-black spells he could not identify quickly following behind the others. The speed at which the spells were cast were terrifying. He could cast faster than even Albus, himself!

The defending Commander made no move to dodge or shield himself in any way. He merely stood with his arms held loosely at his side as if he were bored. The glowing effect that seemed to come from his skin brightening slightly was the only sign that he would react at all. Albus watched as time seemed to slow down in front of him. The spells were a mere meter away from the defender and he had not moved.

Albus opened his mouth to yell to the defender in warning, but was immediately quieted when the deadly magics merely passed through him. There was no waver that would indicate an illusion, nor was there any smoke that would signify that he had broken himself apart at the atomic level as Voldemort was fond of doing. That should be impossible! What magic was this?!

"You will find, Master Dumbledore," Alexei said, smiling warmly, "That The Vizard of D'yavol is capable of things even we thought impossible. Both is command over magic and his immeasurable power is so complete that it is impossible for him to use a wand in the traditional sense. He has burnt out every wand he ever attempted to use even when casting something as simple as the Lumos spell."

Albus, openly gaping at this point, turned his attention back to the battle. The challenging Commander was still attempting to curse his opponent while using deadly transfiguration spells that even Albus had difficulty controlling. The challenger's movements betrayed his frustration at his lack of ability to harm his target. Every spell and physical object merely passed straight through the Alpha Division Commander.

A slight pause in the battle caused the Hogwarts Headmaster to remember to breathe once more. The defender's head tilted slightly as his attacker began what seemed to be a long incantation, but still made no move to defend himself. Albus could only wonder if it was curiosity or insanity that caused the man to behave this way.

The incantation lasted nearly ten seconds. Surely the defender could have struck down the man across from him in his seemingly defenseless state. Suddenly the attacker disappeared. Albus quickly looked around to try to identify the shimmering outline of a disillusioned wizard. He found none, but what was more surprising was that the attacker had completely disappeared from all of his senses. Even his ability to easily see and sense magic could not help him find the invisible man.

Albus Dumbledore, Leader of the Light, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the I.C.W. was surprised by the magical ability that was being shown in the duel. He could not comprehend what was taking place before him. He, a man who had devoted his life to studying the little known magics of the world and the seemingly arcane, was at a loss. He, who was regarded as the most powerful wizard in the world, felt increasingly insignificant in the courtyard of The D'yavol. Surely, one of these two men were the prophesied Son of Britain. Had fate finally smiled upon him after one hundred thirteen years of life and hardship?

The powerful wizard turned his gaze back to the defender after a few seconds of vain search for the attacker. He was surprised, yet again, to see that the Alpha Division Commander had yet to move. He was not looking for the other wizard at all!

Silence permeated the courtyard. It was thick and seemed as if it would never be broken. The witches and wizards formed up in their various companies and divisions never stopped staring straight ahead in what seemed to be a morbid vigil for the dead. After several dozen seconds of uncomfortable silence an impermeable fog quickly settled over the battlefield. Albus switched to his Mage Sight that would allow him to see the various magical signatures within the fog. There was nothing!

Suddenly, the only sound heard was a wet squelch and a long, garbled moan that broke through the oppressive fog. As the fog slowly evaporated Albus nearly lost the meager contents of his stomach at the sight before him. The defender's back had been run entirely through by a large spike of stone protruding from the ground. His shredded innards and blood coated the ground in front of him and his slumped form ensured that they were the last sight he would ever see.

Not a sound was made as the Alpha Division Commander calmly walked over to his victim. The man seemed to bow his head as if in prayer before the still warm corpse. After another minute of silence the wizard saluted his opponent by placing his right hand over his heart before bending over and taking his ex-comrade's wand from his still clenched fist. Once the victor turned around to once again take his place amongst the ranks the body of the contender immediately burst into white flames, his ashes floating amongst the still living assassins. Nobody moved, nobody made a sound.

Once 01A770357 had made his way back to stand in front of all the assembled divisions Vadim broke the tense silence. "01A770357 has persevered!"

The assembled masses finally broke their silent vigil by screaming, "D'yavol pity the living! Honor the dead! Our rest lies in Death's embrace!"

"Let us all be witness to the honor shown here today," Alexei replied solemnly. "01A770357 shall now be known as 01A770358 until the day his name is once again erased from our tomes in order to be honored with a new name! 01A770358, your Divisions have much work to accomplish. Take command of them and immediately join us in the customer lounge. We have need of you."

01A770358 bowed to his two Masters before turning around and yelling orders to his subordinates in a language Albus could not identify. The masses broke apart in an orderly fashion to follow his commands, as large a juxtaposition as possible when compared to his own students. Albus marveled at the power he could now feel rolling off the Commander in waves. This was the one he had searched for these long seventeen years. Albus knew it in his old bones. Fate had certainly smiled upon him.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the prologue to this story. The rest of the story will mostly be told from 01A770358's POV. Though I'm sure you all know who he really is. Updates may be sporadic over the next few months as I am currently abroad for my job and spend most of my time working. This story will use many elements from the canon, but will usually be altered to fit correctly. Let me know how much you liked, or disliked, this story! Constructive criticism is appreciated! _  
_


	2. 1 The Worth of a Devil

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am only writing this story for the enjoyment of the readers and myself.

A/N: If anybody gets confused about it, 01A770358 calls Dumbledore "Master" out of respect for a potential client, not because he is his master. Also, most of this story will be told from his POV.

Harry Potter and the Vizard of the D'yavol

Chapter 1: The Worth of a Devil

 _I had lived an interesting life in my first eighteen years. It had not been one of grand adventures. I had never fit the archetype of the "White Knight". I had been raised to be a killer and a worshipper of magic, itself. The lessons of The D'yavol had stayed with me throughout my entire life, but I had only learned a small fraction of what life actually consisted of. It had taken me a long time to accept who I was to become, but, luckily, I had a great deal of help from those I came to care for along my long and winding path. And to think, it had all started with an old man who was willing to put aside his most valuable trait to save me from myself: his value on human life._

 _I had looked down upon it when I first began to serve him, but that all changed in time. He had later died with the skeletons in his closet left relatively unknown. He had died a hero of the common man. As I look back on the first time I met Albus Dumbledore it is with full clarity that I know how much of a fool I had been back then. I had not known it then, but I do now. Albus Dumbledore had saved me from myself that fateful day. Magic bless him, he had taken a chance with me. I only hope that he has found peace wherever his "next great adventure" had taken him to._

 _It is here I will leave a memoir of my life, forever preserved in this grimoire, to serve as a guide to all future Potters. My heirs and my begotten, let my life serve as an example to you all. Always strive to find the truly valuable joys of life with all due diligence, for it is too soon when you will find rest in Death's embrace._

 _Lord Harry James Potter  
Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter  
July 31, 2076_

 _An excerpt from Past Lord Potters' Personal Grimoire._

It was not a strange situation I found myself in. I commonly showed customers a mere hint of my abilities before they inevitably decided to purchase my services. As I walked along the maze-like halls of my long time home, though I never associated feelings to that home, I pondered the difference in today's duel. I had never been ordered to fight to the death in front of a customer. It was done occasionally, but only for the most important of customers. That had not occurred in my living memory, as short as that may have been.

The man in question, while certainly powerful, did not seem too special to me. I was stronger than him, but, then again, I had never met a witch or wizard my equal. He was old, yes, and undoubtedly considered to be a wise leader in his country, perhaps the world, but we had seen many of them come through our doors.

I pushed the thoughts from my mind. It was not yet my place to question such things. Should the Masters find out, as they usually did, then I would be punished most severely. My role, above all else, was to follow orders and bring honor to The D'yavol, my position be damned. I had to adhere to the same rules as all the others, with more laid upon me because of my position. I had never once considered it a burden. It was an honor.

Time was not of the essence, but I nonetheless hurried to my destination. The Masters were busy men who were not to be kept waiting. Even my time was spent in supplication to them. I repressed a shiver at the memory of the first, and only, time I had kept them waiting. I have always been told I am stubborn, but a quick study when it was most important.

My fist rose of seemingly its own accord to knock on the door before me. The traditions of The D'yavol had quite literally been tortured into me, though I considered that to be a technique of higher learning. I sank to my knee and bowed my head as the door opened before me. I showed the respect due to the Masters even though I was not one of them…yet. I knew their plans for me. I would not fail them.

"Rise, 01A770358." Master Vadim's voice was impassive as ever. I could tell he was pleased with my performance today. High praise, indeed. "Please, join us. We have much need of your services this day."

Bowing to them after I had risen, I walked into the room and stood to the left and slightly behind Master Vadim. I was neither an equal, nor a customer. I would not be invited to sit. I chanced a quick look at today's customer, though I had already memorized his appearance and what little intricacies I could see of him before the battle. Eidetic memory was the gift of one of many rituals performed on us at a young age. It had served me well many times.

"Let us speak of prices, Master Dumbledore," Master Vadim continued as if they had never been interrupted. "Do you wish to purchase 01A770358?"

I hid my shock well. We had been rented out many times, and my cost even then was substantial. An assassin of The D'yavol had not been bought for nearly two hundred years. Offers had been made, but the Masters were always wary of outright selling us. The last assassin to be bought had been subservient to a very charismatic politician who had used the assassin to carve a path of tyranny through South America. His rule had been a question of "when" and not "if" until a very wealthy lord had rented one hundred assassins to hunt the two men down. It had completely drained his substantial coffers. I could hardly comprehend why the Masters would even consider such an offer, though it was not my place to question them.

"First, I believe I should see this wizard's face," Master Dumbledore replied easily. "I would know the face of the man whose life I own before a decision is made."

"What you ask is highly irregular," Master Alexei ground out angrily, "And it toes the line of disrespect. Tell me why I should grant your request and not gut you where you sit."

Master Dumbledore smiled serenely as he looked upon me. Was he insane? He surely knew any of us could easily kill him without his wand. I had easily ambushed and incapacitated him earlier in the day.

"I believe the boy is the child of two prophecies." Dumbledore leaned forward and shifted his gaze to the two Masters of The D'yavol. "I merely wish to confirm this. If he is not then I will peacefully submit to obliviation of the last three months of memories."

The two Masters cast a secrecy spell around themselves and began conversation in earnest. As interested as I was to know of their conversation, I knew it was not meant for my ears. As I stood watch over the two Masters, though they would not need it, I stared at Master Dumbledore from beneath my shadowed hood. He was staring at me with hope in his old, periwinkle blue eyes. They seemed wet with unshed tears as he looked back at me. Why would this old wizard cry over me when he knew not who I was?

It boggled my mind. I had not shed a single tear in over fourteen years. It was a sign of weakness. I had heard whispers of Albus Dumbledore when I had been deployed forward in Britain. They spoke of his kindness and his great power. I had mentally scoffed then, and I repeated the action now. People of power did not cry. They did not carry their emotions on their sleeves. Emotions were for children, the weak, and the pitiful.

His watery stare made me uncomfortable, but I refused to look away. I could not show weakness in front of anybody, much less a valued customer, no matter how strange his demands were.

Assassins of The D'yavol normally worked in absolute secrecy. No customer ever saw our face and always had their memories wiped, not of our existence, but that a deal had been reached between them and us. If we were to appear in large crowds we were always in disguise. Only the Masters and Division Commanders knew the details of any mission, other than the assassin on the mission.

Our secrecy and the magicks within The D'yavol protected us. We were unknowable to most, invisible to all, and shrouded in the secrets of the truly arcane. Assassins of The D'yavol, who were known only in the lowest of places, were spoken of in secret. We were the killers in the night whose origins and operationss were unknown. We were, in short, monsters of both the best and worst kind. We took no joy in what we did, but neither did we dislike it. It was a job that needed to be done. The job of men and women who had lost their humanity long ago. So why? Why would this man shed tears for me? He surely knew what I was. It would be a long time before I figured out the answer to that question.

"We accept your request, Master Dumbledore, but we have one demand of you." Master Dumbledore's gently smiling face fell at the last piece of the phrase. Master Vadim's eyes glinted maliciously in the torchlight. "If you choose not to purchase our most prized assassin, you will be killed in a manner of our choosing for your slight against our customs. You may leave with never seeing his face, but your mind will be wiped of all knowledge of us and we will lock your mind from ever learning of us once again. If you choose to see his face you will pay any price we demand of you or die. The choice is yours, Master Dumbledore."

Would he do it? Would he really gamble his life on the nearly impossible probability I was the person he is searching for? I, personally, would never have done such a thing. I looked into his blue eyes. They had lost their shine as a mental battle with himself took place in his rather limited mind. Any sane man would choose the safer of the two options, but this man seemed anything but sane.

"I will see his face," Master Dumbledore replied resolutely. I mentally shrugged. His body would certainly be on display in Britain by the end of the day. One does not simply insult the Masters of the D'yavol without facing proper punishment.

I looked to the Masters for permission. Alexei merely nodded at me with pursed lips. My always steady hands wanted so badly to shake as I slowly reached for my hood, but I forced myself to show no weakness. None had seen my face, save the Masters. Our faces were always hidden from all others in order to safeguard our true appearance. We even slept in our robes, such was our paranoia of our secrecy being broken.

I felt the air hit my shaved scalp for the first time in as long as I could remember. It was cooler than I had expected. Master Dumbledore gaped when he saw the runes that had been carved into my skin when I was younger. They appeared as normal, white scars when my magic did not power them. Suddenly, his eyes flitted to the one scar on my body that I knew nothing of. A small lightning bolt scar, still red after all these years, was on my forehead two inches above my left eyebrow.

"My face, as requested, Master Dumbledore." My green eyes stared impassively into his emotional blue orbs. My voice sounded strange in my ears without the voice modulating magic on my hood. Even with my eidetic memory I could not remember a time when I had heard my own voice. The robes had been with me since my arrival. I could not remember that far back, of course. The ritual to give me eidetic memory was not performed until I was five. It had only been the first of countless rituals.

"I trust you will not reveal his true name when you see his face, Master Dumbledore." Master Vadim's query was posed as a question, but I could hear the well-hidden threat within it. "If you decide to procure him then you may do as you wish."

"Of course, Master Vadim." Master Dumbledore's eyes never left mine as he spoke softly. More tears had built in his eyes, but he had yet to shed them. Disgusting. "Out of curiosity, if decide to purchase him, what will happen to our young assassin?"

Master Alexei waved a hand as if it were of no concern. "What we sell is no longer ours, other than, of course, our secrecy. We honor our code and our agreements. You can leave 01A770358 to anyone you wish after your death. When you obtain ownership of 01A770358 you own him…completely."

"What is your price?" What other choice did the older man have, but to accept their offer when his other option was a humiliating death?

"We will require two hundred-seventy-three muggle females and they must be virgins," Master Vadim replied easily. Master Dumbledore's jaw dropped in astonishment. "Do not look so surprised, Master Dumbledore. That is not all we require of you."

"We also require one hundred-forty-seven witches or wizards with a large amount of magical power," Master Alexei continued. "We care not of their blood status, only their power. You will, of course, pay these if a price is required. We care not if it is your gold or an associate's. Also, we will require thirteen million galleons for to complete the transaction."

All the numbers were divisible by either seven or thirteen and were able to be placed in twenty-one groups of seven or thirteen. I knew, of course, what these people would be used for, but I did not care. Would he choose death for himself, or would he sacrifice hundreds of people for me? His conundrum interested me.

"What will you do with them-"

"Is none of your concern," Master Vadim cut in sharply as he stood. The runes etched across my head began to glow an eerie blue as I readied myself to defend my Masters. "That is the business of The D'yavol. Do not forget your place, Dumbledore! Your choice…NOW!"

"I accept," Master Dumbledore sighed solemnly. It seemed I was of great worth to him, but, then, the services of The D'yavol were never without great sacrifice. I pulled the magic from my runes and the glow subsided. "Though I do so with a heavy heart."

"No matter your heart, Master Dumbledore," Master Alexei replied happily as magic rushed around the group of three to accept their transaction. "01A770358 is now yours to do with as you please. How will you go about paying this debt?"

I looked at him in interest, but my eyes hid my emotions well. They always did. How _did_ my new Master, this… "Leader of the Light", intend to pay quite a hefty sum? I was sure he did not simply have hundreds of muggles and magicals sitting around in his house.

"The gold is rather easy," Master Dumbledore replied while pinching the bridge of nose and slumping down in his chair. He was ashamed at what he had done, and as a result his occlumency shields had weakened somewhat. I was able to make out, _'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,'_ by using some passive legilimency.

"The boy's godfather is a rather rich man, though this will put a dent in his fortune." Master Dumbledore looked at me from the corner of his eye before sitting up from his previous slumped position. "Have your sources look up Sirius Black. He lives in Twelve Grimmauld Place, London. I will tell him to have the galleons available and placed on his sitting room table for your pick up one week from today."

Master Dumbledore drew a piece of parchment from his breast pocket and handed to Master Alexei. "The home is under a Fidelius Charm. I am sure one of your assassins would be more than capable of getting in and out undetected."

Master Alexei gave the older man a small smile and nodded.

"The muggles and magicals you demand will be much more difficult and would require personal interaction." Master Vadim looked annoyed, but waved that Master Dumbledore should continue. "Lord Voldemort, or as you know him, Tom Riddle, has been collecting muggles and magicals in Britain to sell off into either the slave trade or underground prostitution rings. I have a spy in his ranks who could give me the name of their contact. As much as this pains me, I will pay for their services in advance, but I will need your contact to be the face he sells to and get an oath from him for our agreed upon number. If the numbers stay the same as they have you will have your muggles and magicals before the year's end, if not a bit sooner."

"These are…acceptable terms, Master Dumbledore. However, if we are not paid in full by this time next year, as we do know difficulties arise with obtaining human specimens, we will kill you and anybody who has associated with 01A770358 in that time. Also, any payment received up to that point will be considered ours to retain and we will also regain 01A770358 back into our ranks." Master Vadim looked at me impassively. "01A770358, our last act as your Masters before we release you to your new Master is to recommission your oath. Do you accept?"

As this was a mere formality and not an actual request, I nodded my consent.

"Do you, 01A770358, swear upon your life and your magic to obey the commands of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore as you would our own? Do you further swear to uphold his honor and be his shield, even at the sacrifice of your own life, should he require it? And lastly, do you swear to never betray The D'yavol, and uphold the values and code of honor of the current Masters of The D'yavol?" Alexei looked at me and allowed a small amount of sadness to cross his eyes before he became impassive just as quickly. I knew it pained him to lose his son. I really was the best assassin to replace them, but it was not to be. The muggles and magicals they collected over the coming months would create many like me. They would never be as strong as me, but through their numbers The D'yavol would still gain strength.

"So I swear, so it will be," I replied evenly. Black magic and neon green sparks of energy swirled around me as my magic accepted the oath. I immediately turned to my new Master and fell to one knee, as expected of me by my old masters. "With your permission, Master, I would pull up my hood."

Master Dumbledore nodded and I quickly raised my hood. I never realized how much a simple action could soothe my nerves. I cursed the weakness I had never truly thought about. Silence reigned around me as I continued to kneel. Master Dumbledore was not accustomed to owning a life completely.

"Please rise, Harry." I chanced a look at him. He was addressing me.

"As you will, Master." As I rose to stand I saw Master Dumbledore wince as if preparing for me to strike him. He did not enjoy this. Most men who came through here would have. Perhaps that was why my old masters agreed to this deal.

Master…no, Mr. Alexei held out his hand toward Master Dumbledore. The two shook with smiles on their faces, one warm and one tainted with regret. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Master Dumbledore. I hope we can do so again."

"Alas, I believe this will be the last time I shall step foot on your hallowed grounds again," Master Dumbledore replied. "I am satisfied with the result of our agreement, even if I feel unclean due to its means."

Mr. Alexei turned toward me. "01A…Harry, Vadim and I truly enjoyed watching you grow into the assassin you are today. I know you will make The D'yavol proud. We would have had you as our son, but you know as well as I we could not refuse this opportunity."

I bowed low before the two. "It has been my pleasure serving you in life, Mister Alexei, Mister Vadim. I bear no ill will toward either of you. I will always endeavor to honor both Master Dumbledore in life and The D'yavol in death's embrace."

"D'yavol pity the living," Mr. Vadim said loudly.

"Honor the dead," Mr. Alexei continued.

"Our rest lies in Death's embrace," I finished.

"If that is all, Master Dumbledore, we shall escort you to the edge of our wards and provide you with an international portkey to Diagon Alley in London." Mr. Vadim was back to business, it seemed.

With Master Dumbledore's nod, I left The D'yavol for what would be the last time in my life. I thought little of it at the time. The Vizard of the D'yavol had been bought with blood and gold, but was it worth the price? Only time would tell.

A/N: I am not going to have any set chapter length. The chapters will be as long as I feel they should be. I apologize for the amount of time it took me to write this chapter, though I have written all the way through chapter six. Work has been crazy! I hope you enjoyed. And thank you to all who took the time to review the prologue as well as follow or favorite. To all the Americans reading this story, I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving!


	3. 2 The Devil's Home

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am only writing this story for the enjoyment of the readers and myself.

* * *

Harry Potter and the Vizard of the D'yavol

Chapter 2: The Devil's Home

As soon as we landed in what Master Dumbledore had called Diagon Alley I immediately began scanning the crowds surrounding us for potential threats. Diagon Alley was crowded. There were no immediate threats, but that did not mean I relaxed. Master Dumbledore, however, merely smiled serenely. He seemed completely at ease. Perhaps this Lord Voldemort was not as dangerous as he would have me believe. Surely if he were then then Master Dumbledore would not look so relaxed.

"Harry," my Master began quietly. Nobody was paying the two of us any mind. They were too busy scurrying around doing mundane tasks for equally mundane lives. "I must ask that you not call me 'Master' any longer. It would draw undue attention to us. My buying you is tantamount to slavery in Britain and is no longer legal within either Muggle or Magical Britain. I would ask that you call me Headmaster, as that is a title many people still refer to me by."

"As you wish, Headmaster." I bowed my head slightly in submission, knowing by his inferred intent that Master Dumbledore would not be pleased if I bowed before him for no reason in a public place. "May I ask why you refer to me as 'Harry' and not my given name?"

Master Dumbledore smiled sadly at me and laid a hand on my shoulder. I had seen this many times during my missions across various countries. Some did this as a form of greeting, others as a sign of familiarity, some as though it would help commiserate the other person, and even sometimes it was used as a subtle way to threaten another person. It was a strange gesture, I thought. I was not accustomed to human contact. I did not like it, but it would not be wise to let my Master know this. I was his to use and command as he saw fit.

"You may ask me any question you wish, Harry." Master Dumbledore stooped slightly to look me in the eyes. I was almost two meters tall and Master Dumbledore had a good eight centimeters taller than me. He was a rather tall man. "To answer your question, however, I am using your originally given name. Your parents, Lily and James Potter, named you Harry James Potter when you were born this very day in 1976. They were killed by Lord Voldemort a little over a year later. Also, it would be quite odd in any current society today to refer to you as a string of alphanumerics."

Now that _was_ interesting. My eyes continued to dart between the people around me, committing them to memory as I thought on this new information. That meant I had been born in this country and the man currently burning his way through it had killed my biological parents. I was… "home" in a strange sense of the word. I could only assume The Eversearchers of the D'yavol had found me and taken me before anybody had found me. Perhaps I had gotten my lightning bolt scar from the altercation. I would wait patiently for any further information. If my Master thought it important he would tell me.

My disguise was apparently working. Master Dumbledore had ordered me to disguise myself before we portkeyed to London. He said my parents were well known and I was famous for destroying Lord Voldemort as an infant. As absurd as that idea was, it would not have been a boon for either of us if I were to be discovered so soon. After all, I knew Master Dumbledore would have enemies for me to kill before long. I would remain hidden as long as I possibly could.

"Harry, why did you take the wand from the wizard you dueled?" Master Dumbledore's voice was made to be pleasant as we were now walking down the cobbled path amongst the crowd. However, I knew he was curious as to the customs of The D'yavol.

I would tell him what little I could. Mr. Alexei and Mr. Vadim had told my Master I could tell him nothing of D'yavol in hopes he would not try asking. This was not necessarily true. Telling a client who was allowed to keep his or her memories, which was a rare case, about The D'yavol was not forbidden as long as the information could not be used against us…them. Small things were allowed in hopes they would continue to pour gold into the masters' coffers. Training and maintaining a large army of assassins was not cheap by any stretch of the imagination.

"It was mine to keep," I replied simply. I could tell by the way he looked at me that my Master was not satisfied by my answer so I continued, "In the Siberian Institute of Magic we are allowed to take one item from any foe we defeat, whether it be a mission or a duel of any kind. I have chosen to keep wands for the past seven years now."

"Why would you choose to keep a wand of all things?" Dumbledore's tone suggested he was worried about something. His eyes were trained on me as we continued to walk. I continued to scan our surroundings as we passed through a dingy bar and into muggle London. I was somewhat familiar with the muggle portion of the city. "Do you collect them as trophies?"

My eyes narrowed at my Master's unknown slight, but I said nothing against him. He was my Master and he had no way of knowing he had just insulted me. "Trophies are not allowed. It goes against our honor. It is seen as crude, brutish, and completely beneath us. Only filth takes trophies from fallen enemies. We are only allowed to take items that would be of use to us in our work."

"Why a wand then?" He asked quietly as he surreptitiously cast a wandless notice-me-not charm over the both of us. Wandless magic that was effortlessly used. Perhaps my Master was not as weak as I had previously thought. "I was led to believe you could not use them."

"You are only partially correct, Headmaster." I saw a group of muggle men across the street in an alley mugging trying to strip a teenage girl against her will. Their intent was obvious. The alley was dark during the late evening so normal people would not be able to see into it. I was no normal man. With a negligent wave of my hand all three men forcefully crashed into a wall, allowing the teenage girl to run away. I cared not if the men were dead. They deserved far worse. If Master Dumbledore had noticed he made no comment. "I cannot use wands in the traditional sense, meaning I cannot properly wield one. My magic is too potent. The core would crumble to ash if I were to use one. I can, however fuse the core into my body. I have one hundred-thirteen cores currently placed in strategic points of my body. This not only amplifies any magic I use, allowing me to conserve magical energy, but they also act as focal points which allow me to manifest my magic from any part of my body."

"Astounding! So that is how you cast the spell without moving a muscle," Dumbledore marveled. I merely nodded my head in agreement. "Would you be able to teach others that skill?"

"No." The streets were clearing as night neared. It seemed we were in a part of London which offered many forms of entertainment, mostly pubs. "It is something I have tried to teach many times before, but have been unable to correctly put into words people can understand. I comprehend how I do it, but nobody else seems to be able to. I understand because I know the human body's anatomy and physiology through and through, and because of my instinctual understanding of how magic works. The cores, when part of my body, meld with me and are kept intact by my magic. They are as much a part of me as my skin, but they are also separate from me entirely."

Master Dumbledore scratched his head as he pondered my words. "Harry, that makes no sense, whatsoever. I assume you have been trained on how to blend in within certain societies?"

"You would not be the first to be confused by my explanation. That is as plainly as I can put it." I shrugged my shoulders carelessly. I had long ago accepted the fact that I was strange, an anomaly even amongst a society of those who were anything but normal. "And, yes, I have been trained to be able to adequately interact with citizens of Great Britain, Scotland, Russia, Germany, France, America, Canada, Bulgaria, Ireland, and South Africa. Those areas were delegated to Alpha Division."

"Then I would ask that you use that training to great effect here," Dumbledore replied as we stopped in front of a red telephone booth. I could feel the magic surrounding it. This was an entrance, but to where? Ah, there were magicals beneath our feet. The several hundred feet of ground between them and us had dulled my ability to sense them immediately. "We are going into the British Ministry of Magic. You would attract less attention as a citizen of Britain."

"As you say, Headmaster." I adopted a flawless London accent and flashed him a brilliant smile. I cancelled both of our notice-me-not charms. "Lead the way, then."

We were both cramped in the small booth. Master Dumbledore dialed the numbers 6-2-4-4-2 into the rotary phone and we immediately began to descend. The ride was slow and took a few minutes to actually reach our destination.

I looked around as we stepped out of the booth, which began to ascend into the roof above us once we had both stepped out. The floors and walls of the Ministry were made of black marble. The eastern wall was filled with fireplaces to allow floo access. The northern wall was made up of several golden lifts that would occasionally disappear within the walls and reappear at seemingly random intervals. The southern wall was made up of a single, large hallway that I could not see into from our current position. In the middle of the main foyer was a large golden fountain of a wizard standing on a white marble slab that was being held up by muggles and various magical creatures that seemed to be narrowly avoiding being crushed beneath the weight of the pedestal. At the base of the fountain were the words 'MAGIC IS MIGHT'. I mentally scoffed at the idea. I had seen many wizards killed by muggle weaponry.

In front of us was a small contingent of guards behind a desk. They each wore heavy scarlet robes with a large 'A' embroidered over their left breast. They sneered as we approached. My hood had been let down before we entered the Ministry.

"Auror Dawlish, a pleasure as always," Dumbledore said without a care in the world as he presented his wand for inspection. "I have an appointment with Minister Bones this evening."

"What business do you have with the Minister, Dumbledore?" Dawlish growled his question in an attempt to be intimidating. His attempt was laughable. However, the dark magic emanating from his left forearm was rather intriguing. Perhaps I could separate it from him on our way back out for further study. "The Minister is a busy woman."

"My business with Minister Bones is my own, Auror Dawlish," Dumbledore replied as he snatched his wand from the offensive man's hand. "I would kindly remind you to remember your station when speaking to the Chief Warlock."

Dawlish scowled and looked around Master Dumbledore. Oh, he finally noticed me. He seemed like a very perceptive person. I did not like the way he looked at me. "Who's your _friend_ , Dumbledore? I can't imagine the Minister having any business with a _boy_ , much less a _squib_."

I bristled internally at being called a _boy_ in such a manner. I was normally not one to be dismissed in such a way, but secrecy was tantamount here. I let it slide. I knew I would most likely meet the man again. I would not be so lenient at our next meeting. I was pleased, however, that I was now able to completely mask my magical signature with so little effort. Only those who were overly sensitive to the flows of magic could sense me. It had taken me years to perfect the technique. It was rather difficult, even for me.

"His name is Daniel Weatherby." Dumbledore waved his hand as if it were of little consequence. Dawlish nodded at one of his underlings and they immediately began to rifle through a registry. "I found that Hagrid was in need of assistance. Young Weatherby has spent the last three years abroad studying magical creatures. Not that it is any of your business, but I had an appointment with Minister Bones to introduce the two of them. I'm sure she would be happy to know that we would have another hand that is capable of delivering dangerous beasts to Lord McNair."

"He's not in the registry, Dumbledore. Just what are you tryin' to pull?" Auror Dawlish and his four lackeys drew their wands, but kept them pointed at the ground.

Master Dumbledore's smile was genial, but I could see the ferociousness that lied underneath it. This was my Master's true power: his influence over others and his words. Even an accomplished assassin such as I knew that not all battles were won with violence.

"That would be for two reasons, Auror Dawlish." Master Dumbledore held up two fingers and the aurors behind Dawlish flinched. I smirked at their obvious discomfort. The humorous thing was they did not even know just how outclassed they were, but they thought they did. "First, young Daniel's parents disowned him when he was young and left him at an orphanage. A pureblood such as yourself surely understands how disgraceful rearing a squib is. Second, and as you should _well_ remember is that the Weatherbys were all wiped out at the beginning toward the end of the First Blood War. Such a sad affair, you understand. As such, he would not be in your registry."

A moment of silence…and voila. He crumbled.

"Get out of my damn sight, Dumbledore," Dawlish growled before he stowed his wand and stepped away from us.

"A good evening to you, Auror Dawlish." I nodded to the man as I passed him. What a stooge.

The Ministry was nearly empty. I found it somewhat odd that a central government which was all located in one place would be empty at 2037 hours even if it was Sunday, especially during a time of war. Master Dumbledore had informed me during our long walk out of The D'yavol (it usually took several hours to walk the expanse of the lands surrounding it) that Minister Bones had recently officially acknowledged that Lord Voldemort had indeed risen once more.

It was interesting to me that he would allow somebody like Bones, who was his complete opposite, into the seat of Minister. It seemed counterintuitive at first. I had not had a mission in Britain in three years so I was largely unaware of the political and societal situations, both magical and muggle. It had been considered unimportant at The D'yavol to keep up with the goings on of a nation until you were going on mission there. Every Division had spies and scouts in every country the Division was responsible for. They would always brief one of us, as necessary of course, before we were sent to that country.

I had, of course, posed that question to Master Dumbledore. He had simply shrugged and replied that his spy was unable to acquire any information on why Lord Voldemort had ordered his Death Eaters in the Wizengamot to vote for Minister Bones. It was a strange strategy. His most plausible theory was that since the Death Eaters had so completely infiltrated the Ministry Lord Voldemort believed Minister Bones would be made less effective in the seat of Minister than as the head of the D.M.L.E. I could see how that would be true since the Minister would have to have a majority vote in the Wizengamot to declare martial law and be able to cut executive orders without approval of the Wizengamot. Being the head of the D.M.L.E. gave her much more freedom of maneuver against his Death Eaters, especially since the Wizengamot voted in Lord Lucius Malfoy to be her replacement. It was a good theory, but I believed this to be much too simple a reason for Lord Voldemort to make such a move. His true motives were unknown to me, but I knew I would find out before long.

"I have another request to make to you, Harry," Dumbledore mumbled as he placed a sound dampening charm around us. We could hear any noises around us but anybody listening in either physically or by magic would only hear a garbled mess. We stepped into a lift labeled as one that would take us to the office of the Minister of Magic. I said nothing in reply and waited to hear my Master's orders. "When I die, whether it be by old age or otherwise, I wish for you to immediately take my wand and cast the most powerful spell you know."

"You wish for me to destroy the core of the Elder Wand and stop the cycle of death surrounding it," I replied simply. I saw Master Dumbledore's shocked face and questioning look. "I have heard of the legend of the Wand while I was on various missions. I believed them to be nothing more than chidren's tales until Mr. Alexei told me of your wand. He warned me because if any found out you were the Elder Wand's true wielder you would become the target of many dangerous people. It was for your protection I was told this, as your protection is my primary mission, regardless of your orders otherwise."

"Do you believe your magic would destroy the core within the Elder Wand, Harry?" A difficult question, indeed.

"If the wand was truly created by Death, then no, I would not be able to destroy the Elder Wand." I saw Master Dumbledore slump in dejection. There was little I could do to help him at this time. "I know I am a very powerful wizard, but if the wand were created by a god I fear I could do little to help. I may be powerful, Headmaster, but I do not have the power to completely destroy the creation of a god, even if it is a minor one."

Master Dumbledore's head snapped in my direction, a look of hope on his wrinkled countenance. "You said you could not destroy the Wand. Is there something else you could do with it?"

"I am the Vizard of the D'yavol," I replied cautiously. "The D'yavol is not just a name, Headmaster. I cannot tell you of our relationship with The D'yavol, or as you inappropriately call Him, The Devil, or of his relation to Death, but trust me when I say it is significant. I can feel the magic which radiates from the Wand. It is arcane, older than any magicks I have learned or encountered before. That alone gives credence to the theory that it was indeed created by Death, or another minor god. If the legends surrounding the Wand are true there may be a way for me to incorporate the Wand into my body completely, making me its Ultimate Master. However, to truly be its Ultimate Master I would need to absorb all of the Hallows into my body, the Wand being the final piece. This would require, of course, extensive study of each Hallow. I do not know how long it would take. We may require the services of The D'yavol Research Conglomerate."

"Then we have two Hallows already in our possession, or so I believe. I may know the location of the third, but that will have to wait for another time." For the first time in many years I showed my surprise by snapping my head in Master Dumbledore's direction. I schooled my features as we stepped off the lift. "We have arrived. I believe we must postpone this most interesting conversation until a later date."

My mind raced with possibilities as I considered my Master's words. If I were able to be the Ultimate Master of the Deathly Hollows I would have access to powers beyond my wildest imagination. In the end, however, I would still be bound and limited by the will of either my Master or whoever he gifted me to after his eventual death. Such was the life of a weapon. It was sheathed, limited in its use, until the proper moment. A weapon never decided when it was to be used. It was always controlled. An uncontrolled weapon was a truly dangerous thing. So deep in thought was I that I hardly noticed Master Dumbledore knocking on a black, wooden door with the name 'Amelia Bones, Minister of Magic' etched into a gold plate.

"Enter." Minister Bones voice radiated a sort of tired authority, but it was not harsh. She was frustrated with her position. Likely, she was being halted at every corner. Lord Voldemort had effectively neutered her power. It seemed that the side of light was falling further behind the power curve with each day. The gold that Master Dumbledore would be forced to fill Lord Voldemort's coffers with would not help the situation at all.

"Good evening, Minister Bones," Master Dumbledore called genially as he took a seat in front of the female Minister's desk. I stood behind my Master and to the left, as was befitting of my station. "I hope I find you in good health."

Minister Bones was a severe looking woman. Her blue eyes seemed to be constantly set in a scowl. It was severe, but in no way harsh. Her auburn hair was slightly greyed at the temples and her face showed the beginnings of wrinkling. It was likely due to her age combined with the stresses of being an effectively neutered minister. A monacle was dangling near her stomach from a golden chain as she massaged the bridge of her nose.

"What do you need, Chief Warlock?" Her piercing gaze met Master Dumbledore's unconcerned gaze. A lesser wizard would have immediately been cowed. "I am very busy trying to find a way to successfully provide more funding to the Aurors and Hit Wizards, but Department Head Malfoy is blocking me at every turn. His own bloody department!"

"I have come to introduce you to my newest associate at Hogwarts." Master Dumbledore gave a pointed gaze around the Minister's office. He did not wish to give her any sensitive information here. Both of us could easily detect the listening charms which littered her office. "Minister, may I introduce Mr. Weatherby? He will be assisting Hagrid with his duties at Hogwarts."

The severe woman scowled in my direction, but I could tell it was an act. She understood my Master's implied message. "And why should I care if you hire an assistant to The Keeper of the Keys, Dumbledore?"

"Ah, I see your confusion, Amelia." Master Dumbledore smiled as he continued to gaze around the office, likely pinpointing and identifying every charm and ward that layered the office of the Minister. "Mr. Weatherby will be working with Hagrid, but he will also be in correspondence with Lord McNair instead of Hagrid. Since he is your Department Head of the Regulation of Dangerous Magical Creatures I thought it wise to start building working relations between the two of them. Is Lord McNair currently available? I stopped by his office, but Lord McNair was not present."

I scoffed internally at the lie. Master Dumbledore was leaving holes in his story. If Dawlish was listening he would likely soon know that we had made no such trip. My Master had missed something in his rushed and emotional state.

"I do not enjoy having my time wasted, Dumbledore," Minister Bones growled as she slammed her hands down on desk. I made no reaction. This was just an act, after all. "As such, I must request you leave."

"Stress does not suit you, Amelia." Master Dumbledore looked pointedly at me before looking back at the Minister. "Perhaps I could convince you to have some tea with Mr. Weatherby at my personal flat to relieve you of some of your troubles. I find that tea with friends is a most soothing experience. I also find it quite illuminating, as meeting new friends usually is."

Minister Bones nodded her head jerkily before she abruptly stood and made her way over to us. "Fine, Dumbledore. I see you will not give up so easily. My work was at a dead end anyway."

Master Dumbledore held out a piece of torn parchment for us to read before he quickly placed it back in his breast pocket.

"Marvelous, my dear Lady." A phoenix suddenly flashed into existence in a small pillar of flame and landed on Master Dumbledore's right shoulder as he extended his hands. I took his left hand in my own, knowing his intent. I had only seen one such creature in my travels. They were highly useful companions. "Let us be off. If you would be so kind, Fawkes?"

* * *

The wizarding home we landed in had most certainly seen better days. It looked as if it had not been cleaned properly in decades. Empty liquor bottles littered the tables and the floor. The furniture was torn and peeling, the once expensive sets looked as if they had been ravaged in a fight. Stuffing was coming out of them at seemingly random intervals. The walls, which had once been painted an immaculate black with a small family coat of arms was painted in fading silver in rows about every six centimeters or so.

I closed my eyes as I reached out to the magic around me. The wards were old…and dangerous. This family had fallen deep into the Dark Arts. I mentally shook my head in exasperation. Did the fools not know that balance was required between the light, dark, and grey to keep our magic from eventually fracturing and weakening? Magic, by nature, was in constant flux, but it always remained neutral. If not, magic itself would consume everything. Just as nature was balanced by its own laws, so, too, was magic.

How interesting. A new ward had been added recently. This place was protected by a Fidelius Charm. I remember Master Dumbledore mentioning it, but I did not expect this hole to be the one he used such a useful charm on. No matter, if this was to be our base of operations I would make due. I had lived in worse, after all.

My nose crinkled in disgust as I walked by a grey lump on the couch. A person was under those blankets. I could see their chest rise and fall slightly. He reeked of liquor and personal shame. His liver was beginning to fail, as were his kidneys. That should not have been possible as a wizard. Our systems were always kept at optimal strength until our magic weakened in very old age. The only way this could have happened is if he drank potent magical alcohol constantly for many years and used magical drugs just as heavily. Ah, there were pipes and magical syringes scattered underneath the coffee table in front of the couch.

This man was obviously weak and pitiful. He used narcotics and depressants to try to escape his mental and emotional anguish. Such things were punishable by death at The D'yavol. Our bodies were our weapons and our temples. To desecrate such a thing was tantamount to treason against ourselves and our own magic.

"Wake up, cretin." My voice was quiet, but powerful, the disgust I felt was on open display for all in the room. "You dishonor both your house and my Headmaster with your foolish attempt to flee your troubles. Lesser wizards than you have taken the honorable route."

"Ten more minutes, Moony," the slob slurred nearly incoherently. I knew not what or who this 'Moony' was, but it was of no consequence. He insulted all in this room with his mere presence.

I merely stared in response. Within seconds the cushions beneath him were transfigured into hundreds of sharp, tiny needles. His blanket was transfigured into hundreds of tiny muggle thumb tacks that promptly spilled onto the floor in front of the couch. The unidentified man screamed in pain as the skin along his back and legs was promptly punctured. He immediately rolled onto the floor only for dozens of thumb tacks to embed themselves in his front. I smirked as he woke up, threatening a most painful death to whoever had done this to him. He would not succeed.

"OUT WITH YOU, CRETIN!" The man stilled and merely whimpered as my skin began to glow an unearthly blue and I let loose my power so he could feel the threat in front of him. "YOU WHO DARE TO SHAME MY HEADMASTER, YOUR HOUSE, AND MAGIC ITSELF WILL FIND NO WELCOME HERE! Clean up your act or I will clean it for you….NOW!"

The man let one last whimper escape his lips before he hobbled up an adjoining staircase as quickly as he could. I immediately vanished the tacks and set the couch cushions right without so much as a second thought. As I walked around the back of the couch to allow my Master and the Minister to sit comfortably I took in their expressions. My master seemed saddened by the event and looked at me in concern. The Minister looked at me in bewilderment.

"Harry, though you did not know and though Sirius' actions over the past few years are certainly shameful you should not have treated him so roughly." Master Dumbledore looked toward the staircase where muffled screams of pain and cursing could still be heard. "He is your godfather, after all."

"My compatriots were punished much more harshly for the offenses he has done against magic," I growled. Spitting in magic's face in such a way was heretical to us. "But, as is your wish, I will perform no more such acts against his person."

"As interesting as your sidebar is, Albus," Minister Bones interrupted with a cough as they both took seats on the couch, "I do not believe for a second that you brought me here to meet an assistant to your groundskeeper. Who is this man, really?"

"The prophecied one has returned to us, Amelia." The Minister looked at my Master in open shock and disbelief. Master Dumbledore nodded to me and I allowed my disguise to fall. In Daniel Weatherby's place stood the true Harry Potter. "I have brought the Son of Britain to end the Dark Lord's tyranny once again. Tell me, Amelia, have you seen the daemons of the shadows who hunt in the waning moon's light?"

"I have never seen the daemons' hidden in the dark of the waning moon, but I have seen the mark of their Dark Father."

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know what you think! As always, thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows from the last chapter!


End file.
